Tying the Knot
by Apple Frost
Summary: John getting married to Mary. Few years after the show is set. First time doing fanfiction, so any critique is wonderful :  Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

She was the fourth girlfriend John had had since he moved in with Sherlock years ago. And that woman, sobbing in the front pew—rather obnoxiously, actually, he wished she would stop—was Mary's mother, he guessed.

But Sherlock never guessed.

The woman's hair was dyed, but he noticed that the hints of red in her roots matched Mary's exactly. Then there was the tiny imprints around her neck where a chain had recently sat.

And Sherlock noted, as the bride walked down the isle, arm-in-arm with her fahter, that Mary had on a necklace she'd never worn before, as far as he'd seen. No doubt her mother's. She was the epitome of what a bride should be.

Sherlock glanced at John, his eyes completely focused on his bride-to-be. For the first time that day, John's hand wasn't shaking. Instead, it lay steady by his side.

Though it felt like ages ago, it had only been an hour since Sherlock and John had been running around completely flustered, more so than usual.

"Is my tie straight?" John had asked.

"For the last time, yes," Sherlock said, staring out the window.

"You have the rings? Please tell me you have the rings?"

"For God's sake, John," Sherlock said, turning to his friend. He patted his right pocket, his palm pressing up against the metal beneath the fabric. "I have them, all right? Of course I have them."

John nodded. "Right. Of course."

He turned back to the mirror, patting down his hair. Again.

"Time?" he asked.

Sherlock retrieved his phone from his other pocket and flicked it open. "Five to noon."

"We should probably get going, then," John said.

Sherlock nodded.

He glanced at his friend, who had, up until a few weeks ago, been his flatmate for the last five years. And Sherlock had never seen him so anxious, including the instances when their lives had been endangered.

Sherlock racked his brain, searching for some words of encouragement for John, but found nothing. For once, Sherlock simply didn't know.

But as he stood now, listening intently as the priest completed the vows, and the couple said their "I do"s, he realized that John hardly needed any encouragement. In fact, Sherlock had never seen John any happier.

"And the rings please?" the priest asked.

Sherlock reached into his pocket and retrieved the rings. He handed them to John, giving him a quick glance as if to say "I remembered the rings."

John smirked a bit, before turning back to his bride.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock was bored.

Still.

_Twelve days, fourteen hours, and thirty three minutes._

He glared at the clock until finally, the long had clicked over. _Make that thirty _two_ minutes._

He wasn't used to loneliness. He was used to being alone, for sure. Before John came along, he'd been alone most of the time, other than his skull.

Sherlock got out of his armchair for the first time that morning, each bone cracking as he stood.

The flat was messy enough before John left. Within the last month, it had turned into the kind of mayhem that one would think could only be done intentionally. Portions of Sherlock's experiments sat around the room, from a broken glass bottle that he decided he'd just side-step instead of sweeping up, to a preserved chicken fetus in a bottle sitting on top of the television.

"Bored," Sherlock mumbled to himself.

He rummaged through the many boxes until he finally found it: his skull. His fourth skull, actually. Mrs. Hudson had confiscated the first three.

In some ways, Sherlock mused as he placed the skull on the mantle and admired it, it was a much better companion than John. Skulls never complained when they found one of his experiments in his bedroom closet. Skulls also didn't move out on him. And skulls certainly didn't go away on a honeymoon for two weeks.


	3. Chapter 3

_Three. Two. One. _

Sherlock looked up from his watch and focused his highly-trained ears on the outside of 221b Baker Street.

Nothing.

But that was impossible. Sherlock had done the math—rather quickly, but nontheless efficiantly. The plane hadn't been delayed (he'd checked). And he'd factored in rush hour, too, from the time it would take John and Sarah to get from the station to Baker Street. There was no reason as to why John shouldn't be here by now.

Unless...

Sherlock shot up in his armchair.

"The nerve of him!" Sherlock shouted, thinking aloud again.

"What's that, dear?" came Mrs. Hudsons quiet voice from downstairs.

He ignored her and paced the room.

How could he have been so stupid? Of course John wouldn't want to visit him right after his damn honeymoon! He'd want to settle back in at _his and Sarah's _flat.

"Because being on vacation for two weeks must be _so _draining," Sherlock said bitterly.

And to think that he had straightened up! He'd even got around to sweeping up the glass from weeks ago.

Sherlock let out an agitated grunt as he flopped back into his armchair.

He reached into his blue dressing gown (which was in desperate need of a washing) and took out his cell phone.

_Emergency. Baker St. Urgent._

He sent the message off to John.

Seconds later, his cell phone rang.

Sherlock grinned at John's name as it appeared on the screen, but left it to ring.

"Sherlock!" came John's voice finally, after eleven minutes and fourty-three seconds. "Sherlock, is everything all right?"

The door flung open, and John rushed in. He glanced around the room for a split second before his eyes finally settled on Sherlock, resting carelessly on his chair.

"I suppose there is no emergency, then?"

"I see you've got a new jumper, John," Sherlock said. He smiled his toothless smile. "How was France?"


End file.
